The Long Way Home
by Auk-1
Summary: Stranded aboard a Hierarchy warship on the run from the Reapers, an Alliance pilot gets more than he bargains for when he is placed in the care of an old nemesis from his days in the First Contact War. A short story of forgiveness, redemption, and passion under fire.
1. Prologue

Set in the universe of _Mass Effect_ , the following story concerns the events of both the First Contact War and the waning days of the Reaper invasion. It contains violence and descriptions of explicit acts of a xenophilic nature, and is intended for a mature audience. If you desire to skip to the material in question, scroll ahead to Chapter 4. _Mass Effect_ is copyright BioWare/Electronic Arts.

 **The Long Way Home**

Prologue

Cruiser PFS Ruin Wake, 10.29.2186

Commodore Severen Nox stared broodingly at the star chart before him, plotting the flight path of the cruiser away from Palaven. He stared at four holographic wedges representing the broken remnants of his provisional battle group in disbelief. For the past three days his command had resisted a renewed Reaper offensive that had whittled his forces down to the last bastion, forcing him from the conn of one vessel to the next as his heaviest ships were sequentially knocked out of commission from underneath him. The turian's mandibles flicked momentarily, his bearing strained by a combination of impotent anger and exhaustion.

Severen would have gladly died in orbit defending his home like so many of his kin, just as he would have embraced riding his burning flagship down, to become a fortress defending the soil of his home world alongside the infantry- and he would have happily taken his last breath howling defiantly at the fatal red eyes of those infernal machines- if it were not for the Hierarchy's orders at the eleventh hour that his surviving vessels flee to fight another day.

 _We will live_ , he decided, _to make them pay a bigger price in the end_. For now his priority was to ensure that they lasted long enough to make port and restock their silos and magazines before making their vengeance a reality. On the viewport ahead of him, a micrometeorite shower flashed harmlessly by, like so many tracers seeking a mark upon the ranks of the invaders left behind-

"-are assembled sir, and awaiting your briefing."

Broken from his ruminations, Commodore Severen turned to face the section officers of the _Ruin Wake_ , a dozen grim faces awaiting his command. He acknowledged the words of his executive officer and stepped back from the viewport, pacing around the holographic projections of the star map as he cleared his throat to speak.

"We have all had it ingrained in us that obedience is the foundation of discipline. That doesn't mean our discipline wasn't tested when the word came in to go. If you feel that it's not right for us to leave the fight for home like this, believe me when I say I'm with you. But in any circumstance we have to trust that we were ordered into this to provide a strategic advantage for every other world under siege. Take a small measure of solace in the fact that we'll have a better chance to take more of the bastards out in the long run. This fight is far from over."

He saw their resolve harden at his words, a few heads nodding silently. He continued,

"The fallback position is the _Manta Reef_ , an Alliance deep-space station equipped to repair and rearm our capital ships. Unfortunately, the station is reporting a high threat from nearby Reaper incursion and is being towed closer to the Citadel to maintain the defensive line. Furthermore, our fastest route there, through the Shanxi-Theta Relay is cut off, due to heavy Reaper ambushes reported from the last fleet movement through it twenty hours ago. Instead we will bypass it through the Avalon Expanse to take 314 to Widow Relay, where the station should probably be by our time of arrival, estimated to be in about six days."

A junior officer stepped in from the back of the room and conferred briefly with the Operations Deputy, an energetic personality who relayed the message at a fast clip.

"Sir, the _Iconoclast_ is reporting drive core rupture, they won't be able to transit farther than the local heliopause by their estimates. Captain Toriyev is requesting permission to arrange crew transfer between us and the _Havinclaw_ before we reach it."

Severen swore. With the loss of the _Ruin Wake_ 's sister ship, he was down to a single cruiser, a limping destroyer, and a frigate bringing up the rear. He mentally calculated how many of his crew would have to hot-bunk with an additional member. He figured it would likely affect the entire 270-odd complement of the cruiser, and leave the _Havinclaw_ equally packed. The destroyer _Illuminator_ would offer more room, except for the fact that several of her decks were perforated by Reaper fire and breathable air was now a precious commodity that would be endangered by the exhalations of another hundred souls. The coming six days would be a bit of a squeeze, and rationing would have to be enacted accordingly. He addressed the Ops Deputy and Naia Varkesson, captain of the _Ruin Wake_.

"Granted. Take an inventory of supplies, munitions and craft we can salvage, and clear it with the quartermasters and Chief Engineer for transfer after ferrying the crew. Though it might get interesting as half our docking bay is a field hospital at the moment." He trailed off, darting amber eyes scanning the room for his Flight Operations Officer, meeting his gaze at the far end of the bulkhead..

"Any idea what to expect?"

Lorem Thenandros straightened up from leaning upon the bulkhead and answered somberly, "They reported a single operable assault shuttle before we left Palaven, which they're now using as a medical transport to the _Wake_ since their medical facilities are on a breached deck. We recovered seven escape pods that managed to maneuver their way to us during our last few hours above Palaven, including a couple from Alliance fighters. Speaking of which, we also took in three Alliance single-seaters whose carrier broke up somewhere over the north pole. Two of these fighters are stowed in the port bay, the other was jettisoned as it was too damaged to be of use."

Severen contemplated this for a moment, one long talon tracing thoughtfully along his chin plate. He voiced his thoughts.

"Those crews are going to have a hell of a fast ahead of them unless I'm mistaken about our lack of levo-based provisions aboard this ship. Nevertheless, keep those fighters armed and fueled if they have compatible systems. We don't know what might be waiting for us before we clear the Expanse. What do you make of this, Marthel?"

Falvo Marthel, an intimidatingly tall figure even by turian standards, adjusted his focal visor and spoke up in his peculiar Terminus drawl, practically aglow at the chance to speak with academic authority as the _Ruin Wake's_ Medical Director.

"The humans will find themselves moderately incapacitated by fatigue as the week wears on, sir. However despite their discomfort, they are in no danger of starvation so long as their intake of fluids is maintained. This being said, of the six we have aboard, two were recovered bearing injuries from battle, and are both currently in the infirmary. One is in critical condition, and although we have done what we can… it's not looking good."

Severen heard a hint of a pained tone as Marthel sighed the last sentence, before he continued in a more pleased timbre,

"You'll be happy to hear however, that we've managed to clear another thirty crew for full duty since we took those hits to the ventral battery the other day. And now that we're out of the varren's den, perhaps the crew can start returning to crepuscular duty shifts, and start getting some much needed shut-eye. Including you sir, respectfully."

The Commodore permitted himself to crack a weary grin at the suggestion.

"Well I'm not normally one to argue with the doctor's orders, but we have a lot of work to do before we think about stepping down the operational tempo. But you're right, with all the extra hands on deck it would be a waste to allow freeloading. We'll put them to good use, including the humans. On that note,"

Severen glanced down at his omni-tool, digits dancing for a moment before looking up and crossing his arms.

"Since general quarters will soon be filled to capacity by our esteemed colleagues aboard the _Iconoclast_ , I've started a provisional roster for housing our Alliance guests, as I am sure I can find sufficient volunteers in this room to arrange accommodation. Just pick a name from the list if you're willing."

Glancing down at their respective wrist-mounted comm devices, the reactions among the section officers were mixed. A couple shrugged and motioned their acceptance, while others appeared noncommittal, and a few maneuvered around the issue.

A logistics officer shook his head. "My bunk's too far from the docking bay. Tactical disadvantage."

"Can't have them near hydraulics in engineering. Too much uh… infrasound. I hear it's bad for them _,"_ said a Systems Chief

"I don't want to wake up to growling stomachs _,"_ mumbled another.

" _That's not nice!"_ chirped an admonishing Captain from somewhere in the back.

Among the varied reactions the Commodore observed at his solicitation to house the aliens, his attention came to focus on that of his Fleet Intelligence Liaison, a middle-aged Lieutenant Commander by the name of Chertyl Korvaris, who stood transfixed, simply gazing into her tool's display as if lost in thought, one talon hovering idly over the holographic keys. Her cheek plates seemed drained of blood, and her short mandibles twitched involuntarily. It felt wrong to stare, but Severen caught himself marveling perversely at this odd feature of her visage. A childhood disease had eroded one of her mandibles which was now filed to a point and crowned in a copper alloy. He felt a pang of empathy for her, as these crowns, while rare, were most often seen on those who'd been raised on the most remote and destitute colonies, a notion corroborated by the pair of white bands crossing her red-tinted face plates upon the crest and beneath her eyes- the mark of Quosaitus, a colony known primarily for rare metal excavation and the stewardship of the Hierarchy's infamous prison asteroids. Even without these markings emphasizing her reaction, Chertyl would look as if she'd seen a spirit.

"Something wrong, Korvaris?" The commodore inquired, bringing her stunned gaze to his. To her credit, she recovered her bearing quickly.

"No sir. Nothing wrong."

He noted her finger still floating above her omni-tool display.

"Are you in or not?"

She glanced back down, finding a name and acknowledging her acceptance before nodding at the Commodore.

"I had hoped so. If I recall correctly you were commemorated at a Fleet awards ceremony not too long ago for facilitating one of our first joint exercises with the Alliance. You seemed quite adept as a counterintelligence advisor to our human allies of the Extrasolar Naval Command or whatever they were going by in those days."

He didn't mention her face being the reason he remembered that particular pinning ceremony. Thankfully, the comment seemed to put her at ease. Warming to his words, she nevertheless deflected his praise in typical turian fashion with a subdued smile and a downward glance.

"Just doing my job, sir."

The briefing adjourned a half hour later, and the following seven hours of Chertyl's shift were spent supervising a maintenance team tracing electrical faults in the aft sensor array. As the day's work dwindled, she dismissed the team early. They had done their job adequately to be sure, but Chertyl's thoughts were clouded and anxious, and she needed to address a nagging thought that had perturbed her since signing off on taking in one of the Alliance pilots. Severen hadn't been off the mark in presuming that she was experienced in dealing with the human military, and as an officer of Fleet Intelligence, he wouldn't be wrong to assume that she would be more knowledgeable than most regarding their habits and customs, particularly as they pertained to naval affairs.

But what the Commodore couldn't know was where she had gleaned much of this expertise, because unlike most of her peers aboard the _Ruin Wake_ , Chertyl was old enough that she had begun her service in the fleet at a time when humans were still considered the enemy. She did not look fondly upon the early years of her career, though she was grateful it eventually allowed her to find assignments advising the human fleet, and even find a few friends in the Alliance. But the sight of a particular name on that roster gave her a sinking feeling that she was not done answering for the sins of her past- sins locked so deeply for so long that even the Commodore wouldn't have the clearance to know. But the name of someone with a key, she knew, might well belong to one of those pilots in the med bay.


	2. Chapter 1: Midnight Revelations

Chapter 1: Midnight Revelations

The moment Chertyl was relieved by the oncoming shift she took the nearest cargo lift to the first deck, striding purposefully through the docking bay's observation gantry on her way to the Infirmary. Below her, an assault shuttle was offloading crew from the _Iconoclast_ , to be checked in through the aid station and assigned to their new stations aboard the ship. A pair of engineers were visible conversing with one of the human pilots beside an Alliance fighter at the far end of the bay.

Entering the clean area surrounding the Infirmary, she waited impatiently for the VI module mounted on the hatch to perform its scan for contaminants and pathogens. She leaned against the bulkhead, rapping her fingers idly on the handle before the hatch finally hissed open, and her face was greeted by a wave of cool, positive pressure air as she entered the Xeno Ward, isolated from the rest of the facility as a precaution against cross-species virulence.

The ship had entered the nocturnal phase within the past hour, and the only lighting to navigate by was the dim red glow of the standby lights. Taking a moment for her eyes to adjust, Chertyl carefully maneuvered her way beside the nearest bed where a human slept, chest rising rhythmically in deep slumbering breaths. Doing her best to stay quiet, she leaned over him, trying to get a better look at his face. A bandage was wound around his eyes and forehead, leading her to ponder what sort of injury he must have sustained in the fighting.

Beside him, a bedside table held what appeared to be personal effects. Glancing through some unrecognizable trinkets she spotted a set of identification tags on a small chain. She picked them up, feeling embossed lettering on one side and a hardened datachip on the other. Interfacing with her omni-tool, she turned her back to shield him from the glow, and caught herself. There was no way he could see anything short of an arc welder past those bandages anyway. The chip latched onto a magnetic slot on the omni-tool, and a holographic readout of information crossed her hungry eyes. There was that name again.

 _Victor Sandage._ Major, Alliance Navy. Blood type O negative. Hazel eyes, beneath the bandages. Over a full foot shorter than her, but unsurprising as she was on the tall side of her species. Sensitivity to warfarin and some other drug she couldn't even pronounce in her head. None of this was leading her closer to answering why she recognized his name, nor why it had evoked such implacable dread throughout the day.

She noticed that his medical profile was flagged in the local server as well, meaning the data was hosted on the turian fleet's medical net. This could be expected of anyone who received aid or treatment upon a Hierarchy vessel, except for the fact that according to this, the man before her had existed in their records for _twenty-nine years_.

Before she could ponder this further, the lights in the room brightened moderately, and the towering figure of the Medical Director stepped through the doorway in comically quiet fashion, momentarily pressing one talon vertically between his mouth and nose.

"That's a human signal to keep quiet, did you know that?" He whispered. "What are you doing down here?"

Obscuring her omni-tool with her other hand, Chertyl shrugged and tried to reply casually.

"I… didn't know that actually. And uh… I just wanted to get a general idea of their dimensions, you know- to clear out enough room to bunk."

 _Shit,_ she thought. _That sounded a lot less stupid in my head._

Thankfully, Marthel didn't seem to find the proposition as ridiculous as she did.

"And here I thought I was the only one on this crew who preferred planning over improvisation. Nice to see initiative like that, but they're all not much different than our friend here." He motioned a talon toward the slumbering human. "Except most have hair, even if their military personnel keep it shorn low so it doesn't interfere with helmet seals. This one lost his as a side effect of a medical treatment for a rare affliction. Quite fascinating. Tell me Chertyl, have you ever heard of Inverlerik's Disease?"

She shook her head.

"It's quite rare, caused by one of only two viruses transmissible from turians to humans. The other does nothing more than blacken their vestigial talons for a week or so, but this one can affect their central nervous system and cause paralysis and coma- though surprisingly it is not transmissible between humans, and only affects a small subset of their population. Want to know something amazing?"

He shuffled for something on the little table.

"Huh. Could have sworn it was here…"

Chertyl reached behind the table with a closed palm before lifting the identification tags in feigned surprise.

"Is this what you're looking for, Director?"

"Yes!" Marthel exclaimed, before lowering his voice and quietly interfacing the chip with a nearby terminal. "Very good. Have a look at this. Victor Sandage here was a case study when I attended the Academy of Medicine on Palaven. He had acquired the virus around the time of the Relay 314 Incident and fell comatose within a year. One of our doctors identified it, and the human spent almost twenty years in cryogenic stasis before a viable treatment was perfected by researchers at the Academy. It was big news for a while, and brought us no small measure of goodwill from affected families. I can't say I'd ever have imagined a minor medical celebrity would grace my Xeno Ward, but here we are. Perhaps you can ask him sometime about what it felt like to wake up on Palaven."

He thought of the Academy, and was saddened by the thought of it in ruins. But his attention was brought back by the concerned look on Chertyl's face.

"Director!" She hissed quietly, " _This wasn't the-"_

Marthel cut her off with another signal for quiet, removing his visor to rub the glass between a cloth,

"Ah yes, I'm sorry to tell you that Captain Yamaduta succumbed to his injuries late this afternoon. I have placed his body in cryo separate from our own casualties and will ask the Commodore how he wishes to proceed once we make port on the _Reef_ , spirits willing. But I will go ahead and place Major Sandage here in your care until then, if that's alright with you."

Chertyl was set to protest this, but looking down at the sleeping human, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity. This one's woes obviously went back much further than the war, and although she had never borne children in her forty-six years, she felt the empathetic nudge of a motherly instinct to protect and nurture this frail and blind creature. On a practical level, the thought occurred to her that he might be able to provide a helping hand in the coming week on her deck once the bandages were off, assuming his injuries were not severe. She sighed in resignation.

"Very well. When will he be cleared from the ward?"

"He is clear to go now, actually. Might be ideal too, since he is still sedated from a minor op early this cycle. He suffered flash burns to his retinas from one of those implant-linked helmet sensoriums the Alliance guys use- it overloaded in his face when his fighter took a high-energy hit. Have you seen those things in the bay? I like how sometimes they paint cartoons or lewd figures on the nose or stabilizers. Some kind of tradition, one explained to me. Anyways, take this bandage and have him change it when he wakes. Then have him keep it on for another cycle and let him take it off when it's like this again." He motioned his arms about the dim room.

Marthel watched her stow the roll of medigel-infused cloth, and glanced around the ward for a moment before frowning.

"Hate to tell you, but all my stretchers are being used in the aid station at the moment. But I don't think he's terribly heavy."

"Are you serious?"

Chertyl glanced down hesitantly for a moment, shaking her head before gently slinking one arm under his back and the other at the crook of his knees, before lifting the pilot clear from the bed. Marthel hadn't lied. She could probably run rescue drills at speeds rivaling those at her prime carrying fellow turians with someone this light, though her carapace would probably not work wonders for him if she did. As it were, Chertyl walked easily to the hatch, promising the Director she'd do what she could for the human. Before she left, he mentioned that he'd store Victor's personal effects in the meantime, and added,

"That reminds me, he said something funny before I put him under anaesthesia for the microsurgery suite to fix his eyes. I asked him what his level of pain was on a numeric scale, and not to lie, because it was important in setting the right dose for a dilating agent. He gave a moderate value, and said he knew better than to lie to a turian with surgical instruments."

Chertyl took a moment to digest this _._

"Right. Be seeing you, Director."

Carrying the pilot in her arms down the deserted hallways towards her cabin, she took a leisurely pace to quiet her footfalls and not disturb the human's slumber. From this angle his face began to appear more and more familiar as she walked. Silently pondering Marthel's last words, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place- his identity and records, the memories of her formative years in the Fleet; that parting jest- Chertyl could not believe she had failed to recognize it before. As she rounded one last corner approaching her quarters, she was relieved to find herself alone. She looked down at Victor one last time before crossing the threshold to her cabin, and only after sealing the hatch behind her did she let allow herself to bury her head against the fabric of his scorched flight suit, choking back sobs.

 _29 Years Earlier…_

The young Alliance captain was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was in very deep shit. When his ejection capsule had come to rest in the dim red glow of an unfamiliar hangar bay, he thanked his lucky stars profusely, popping the hatch immediately to take deep draughts of sweet air into his oxygen-deprived lungs. His cosmic gratitude was to be short-lived however, as the powerful, taloned hands of these frightful aliens soon whisked him roughly into the armored heart of their warship.

Pinned against a cold and unyielding bulkhead, he had been stripped of his survival equipment and boots, and felt the skin of his neck pinched as a metal collar of some kind was clamped around it. He was left like this for nearly a half hour by his estimate, before a pair of the menacing raptor-like aliens strode into the room bearing an array of equipment. A boxy apparatus was laid beside him and a cable connected to the device around his throat. Satisfied with his work, the nearest of his captors contemplated him for a moment with arms crossed in a strangely human way, before speaking in an incomprehensible language, the voice guttural like a guitarrón out of tune. A moment later, the metal box by his side provided a translation, with the intonation of a toy robot with dying batteries.

"You picked a very bad day to enter my brig, alien. Particularly when the flight recorder we recovered from your escape capsule reveals you were the one dumping cannon rounds into the wingman of my comrade here. I think he wishes to tell you something."

A taloned fist cracked against his cheekbone, snapping the pilot's head sideways as he cried out a blue streak of expletives, a couple of which seemed to be repeated back through the translation machine.

"You may wish to articulate, alien. We have a great many questions."

He leaned in close, waiting for his captive to face him again before adding coldly,

" _...and no shortage of time."_

The human had lost track of time by the sixth beating. He'd gritted his teeth and said nothing as long as he could, but eventually his SERE mindset began to crumble, breaking his stoic facade and leaving him crying and begging for it to stop, which somehow seemed to curb their brutal enthusiasm slightly- but only for a moment before they'd work him over again, and he'd divulge bits and pieces of information they were all too eager to pummel out of him.

Broken and bleeding they'd left him after the endless ordeal, the restraints of luminous omni-matter pinning his arms around a pillar at his back, preventing him from collapsing flat onto the floor as he desperately wished he could. The human remained still, doubled over and slumped on his knees. He tasted the sticky tang of blood on his upper lip as a thin rivulet ran down his temple, following the swollen curve of his cheek to meet another red flow from his busted nose. He was surprised it hadn't coagulated yet, but at the very least his muscular tremors and hyperventilation seemed to have subsided. In their wake, he felt only a vast, overwhelming exhaustion calling him into unconsciousness. He didn't fight it.

The metallic shriek of a hatch opening jolted the pilot awake, his heart pounding furiously as the tall profile of another alien entered his cell and approached, looming menacingly over him. He dared look up, squinting his eyes against the glaring illumination of the naked vapor lamps above. He took in the sight of this alien, leaner and curved slightly differently at the waist and torso. Rather than the turtleshell-like armor he had seen previously, this one was decked in a form-fitting garment of flexible weave, over which was strapped some kind of utility harness or load-bearing vest. He couldn't tell if the subtle differences in physiology were due to sexual dimorphism or simply his addled imagination.

The creature turned briefly to make an adjustment to the apparatus beside him, the human's gaze transfixed by the movements of the lithe creature. The backside of the alien's garment trailed off into a pair of what looked like long coattails, which his eyes soon followed back up, being cautious not to make eye conta-

-they were a piercing, frigid blue.

The alien said something incomprehensible in an unmistakably threatening tone. There was no translation provided by the machine.

Despite himself, a fractional remnant of rebellious spirit welled within him, and against his better judgement the human spoke the first snarky thing to come to his pummeled mind.

"S-sorry. I told you guys already I don't speak Spanish."

Crouching directly in front of him, the alien took him by his short crop of hair between three long digits, forcing his head back. Seeing the other massive hand balled into a fist, the human inhaled sharply and shuddered in anticipation of the blow.

But it never came. Opening his shuttered eyes, he watched as the alien simply sighed, and let go of his hair, cradling the back of his head and tilting it gently upward to face that icy gaze. Seeing the alien's face in close detail, the pilot noticed light bands crossing the creature's foreplate, while the lighting of the cell reflected a faint glare from some kind of metal cap around one mandible. In a softer, harmonic voice, the alien spoke again after a moment. This time the box delivered the message.

"I understand your resistance, alien. It is natural that you should be bound to your kin and say nothing that would compromise their security or stain your honor. But I have my directives, just as you have yours. My directive is not to leave this room until I have the information I seek, and to take it by any means necessary."

At this final statement, the alien produced a cloth bundle from a breast pouch. Unrolling it on the ground in front of the human, he was treated to the sight of an array of metal instruments, most of which appeared capable of applying a mechanical advantage to what would surely be excruciating effect on any number of his body parts. He looked tentatively back at his captor, and back down at these frightful implements. For the umpteenth time the pilot wondered if it would have been better to have simply suffocated in that ejection capsule after all.

"Now I'm going to start easy, and ask you your name."

With a straight face, he replied.

"Mike. Mike Litoris. Rear Admiral, Systems Alliance."

The humor was almost certainly lost on his captor, whose head tilted quizzically at the response like a befuddled bird. The alien retrieved his identification tags from a pocket and idly played with them between fingers.

"That you would lie about even the most easily retrieved information tells me that you may require an ample amount of additional encouragement."

With these words, the alien retrieved a long-handled instrument tapering to a pair of blunt prongs, twisting the handle until an arc discharged between the tips with a sizzling crack.

"And I will dispense as much as necessary to get to the truth."

The instrument was touched to the human's collar, sparking a flow of current that sent his neck muscles taut. A scream caught in his throat, along with his ability to breathe for an excruciating moment until the tool was pulled away, leaving him gasping. Catching his breath, he watched her inch the tool closer before he relented.

" _Victor! My name is Victor, goddamn!"_

Pocketing his tags, his captor replied in a pleased timbre.

"Your cooperation is appreciated, Victor. Believe me when I say you will find your captivity much more agreeable this way."

His interrogator produced a pouch of fluid from another pocket, loosening a resealable cap before bringing it to his parched, split lips. He took the nozzle and suckled for his life, the faintly-chlorinated taste of water washing down the blood and mucosa choking his throat. Before he could finish the container it was pulled away, and he had to actively fight the urge to plead for more. His captor looked at him with warmer eyes.

"You looked like you needed that, alien. There is no need for pain, you see? Now answer this: from where did you obtain the transponders that tricked us into thinking you were turian craft?"

Victor pondered the question. The way she phrased it implied that perhaps they didn't suspect the Alliance had partially managed to break their cryptography, duplicating transponder schemes to mimic turian IFF signatures, a tactic Alliance squadrons had recently begun using to lay ambushes- including this ill-fated sortie. He settled for a dubious half-truth, telling his captor that a number of transponders had been taken from downed enemy ships and their native hardware restored to working order, rather than reveal the more insidious truth that captured units were actually used to remotely flash turian-coded decoy signatures onto Alliance equipment in real time. Thankfully, there was likely nothing that remained of Victor's fighter that could contradict this, as the transponder arrays were stowed nowhere near the canopy and its crew capsule.

The alien listened attentively, seeming even more agreeable by the time he had finished spinning his yarn. He watched as the creature reached into yet another uniform compartment and produced a cloth, which was soon soaked with the water that Victor hadn't finished. The human watched apprehensively as his captor crouched even closer, and felt the lengthy fingers of one gloved alien hand cradle the base of his head, while the other brought the wet fabric to his face, cleaning him gently. Victor winced as the cool cloth brushed against multiple lacerations, although the turian had a surprisingly tender touch. The feeling of being handled this way, and the knowledge that receiving continued humane treatment would depend on the betrayal of his friends- his very species- overwhelmed the young captain. Hot tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his battered visage, and he wondered idly if lacrimation was something their kind could even comprehend. A finger lifted his chin and brought his eyes to hers. _It has to be a her_ , he reckoned. _Can't imagine this kind of touch from anyone else- human or otherwise._ The creature let out a heavy exhalation as she wiped the tears from his cheeks, more careful this time around his injuries. The two locked eyes for a moment, and with a valiant effort to still his quivering jaw, the human managed a weak _thanks_. The alien's mandibles fluttered for a moment, the metal tip of the shorter one glinting erratically in the harsh light. She broke her gaze away, parting her mouth-plates as if to say something when the hatch behind her clacked metallically as someone on the other side worked to unlatch it.

Rapidly stuffing the blood-soaked rag into a pocket, she backed away suddenly and stood to acknowledge the entrance of another intimidating figure, a turian with blood-red facial markings and a set of armor sufficiently ornate that the human would bet fair money he'd be saluting this guy- if Victor also happened to be a spacefaring raptor-turtle. With a deft motion of her foot-claws, his interrogator flicked a dial on the translation machine and struck a pose uncannily similar to parade rest as she addressed the newcomer, who was clearly a superior. Victor's presence wasn't acknowledged at all in the course of their ensuing conversation, which sat just fine by him as he lay slumped in his fading hope that this was all a terrible nightmare. The new face soon looked at him with interest, and sauntered over to assume the same crouching posture over the kneeling human, reactivating the translation machine as his first interrogator interjected.

"-damaged. There is no way to know if this one even has the clearances-"

The armored turian held up a dismissive hand, bringing silence to the room. He stared daggers at Victor, as he slowly worked his digits into a pair of elongated polymer gloves. Looking over his shoulder, he made a remark to his colleague about the importance of barrier protection when handling unfamiliar species, before turning back to face the prisoner.

"As for you, it is well that you have begun cooperating. I might suggest that doing so from the start might have saved you from this."

He took Victor's jaw into one hand, inspecting his injuries as he turned it from one side to the other. Though he was not rough in his ministrations, he seemed heedless of the burning sensation he was causing his captive through the nitrile-like texture of his gloves against the human's split flesh. Victor could only endure it, thankful when his head was released after a minute, his captor speaking up once more in a grave tone.

"But of course, there was little chance of that once the wing commander saw his friend's ship torn to pieces through the gunsight captures of your particular telemetry module. Which brings me to the great question: how to access the navigation partition. It appears to be encrypted on the user end, a fact that leads my technicians to conclude that the decryption key is somewhere in here."

A gloved finger tapped against Victor's forehead, eliciting a shiver as the translator delivered the message. There was no way for him to know whether or not the guidance and nav data within the partition had overwritten itself as it was designed to upon tampering. The fact they were aware of its existence as an entity independent of the gun camera suggested that it hadn't. Which meant the only thing preventing these aliens from tracing his flight plan back to the position of the _SSV Komodo Smile-_ the assault carrier whose deck he'd cleared not ten hours ago- might only be his will not to surrender it. Relinquishing a single nonsensical phrase of twelve characters (including numbers, capitals, and special characters- of course) could spell the end for every soul aboard his home ship.

This thought shed light onto a new perspective for Victor, one in which his life meant very little in the greater scheme of this crazy war- but in which his actions could have profound consequences. He was done feeling sorry for himself, Captain Victor Sandage decided.

"Now, you are going to provide that key if you value your well-being. I will warn you now I am not nearly as patient as my junior intelligence officer here. "

Victor looked idly toward his first interrogator, a nearly-pleading expression frozen on her face in anticipation of his response.

"You know I can't do that. I… I have nothing left to say to you."

Three savage strikes to his ribs brought forth a fresh tidal wave of pain, his screaming face then backhanded towards the deck as if by a carnival hammer. The last sight Victor remembered seeing was the armored turian reaching for a wicked-looking powered instrument, a look of pure terror frozen on the striped face of the junior intelligence officer in his fading peripherals.


	3. Chapter 2: Be Not Afraid

Chapter 2: Be Not Afraid

Cruiser _PFS Ruin Wake, 10.30._ 2186

Chertyl opened her eyes groggily to the pulsing lights of her diurnal alarm. Dismissing it with a wave of her hand, she felt briefly disoriented, observing the interior of her little cabin from the perspective of the bottom bunk, which was little more than a pit below floor level where she'd set up bedding for her guest, clearing away a footlocker and a spare hazard suit to make enough space for the human to rest comfortably. She had hung her omni-tool interface along a beam supporting the top bunk above her head, and a quick glance at the time indicated she had another hour before the duty roster had her scheduled on the ops deck. Satisfied that she had time to spare, she turned her attention to the bandaged head leaning against her chest.

The human had slept for nearly the past day by her estimate, missing her emotional breakdown at learning his identity and subsequent anxiety at anticipating his reaction to seeing her again, that is if he recognized her at all. Chertyl decided it was no use worrying about it now, and was content to simply continue holding him against her, lost in the deep rhythm of his snoozy breathing.

She enjoyed this state for a few more minutes until the human began to stir. His breathing quickened, inhaling sharply as he turned his head in disorientation, hands exploring their surroundings until they found hers. Trying to pull himself to a seated position, he bumped his head against the top bunk before Chertyl could stop him. He collapsed back onto her chest with a grunt.

"Easy, Victor. Easy." She rubbed his forehead gently where he'd struck it.

"Doc? Is that you? What's the deal? Why can't I see?"

The man gingerly touched a couple of fingers to the bandage wrapped around his eyes.

Chertyl pushed his hands back down. She wondered briefly how her voice could be mistaken for that of the Medical Director with his fairly unique accent, but recalled that Marthel had been the last person the pilot had seen. Chertyl figured the human's bewildered state at awakening in her arms was understandable, though she found it mildly amusing that he would call for him by the human honorific for a medical practitioner. Grasping Victor securely to calm him, she responded in a humored tone,

"I'm not the Doc, no. But the Medical Director says your sight will be fine in another day, as long as you let your eyes heal under that bandage. My name is Lieutenant Commander Chertyl Korvaris, and I've been assigned to bunk you in my cabin until we reach friendly space."

The human stopped fidgeting and settled down, though his head still pivoted about as if trying to locate the source of her voice.

"Where am I?" he asked.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious of their intimate proximity, she fumbled for an explanation that would place him squarely in her lap.

"On my bottom bunk uh… on my lap. You err… kept trying to sleepwalk all night, so I decided to just sit here and keep you secured until you woke."

She mentally pounded her head against a bulkhead. _Spirits, I'm so shit at this._ A bulge in her pocket saved her pride before he could muster a response to this absurdity, and she pulled out the bandage provided by Marthel.

"Also I was told to change your bandage after you woke up. But, ah… I don't want to hurt you accidentally, so here. Take this."

She took his hand and placed the rolled fabric in his palm. He felt around it for a free edge before speaking up.

"Oh… well thank you for that, I guess. I'm Major Victor Sandage, or just Vic if you prefer."

"Well good morning, Vic." He couldn't see it, but her faceplates were parted in a kindhearted smile.

The human grasped the fresh bandage, and began to unfurl the one around his head with his free hand. Chertyl assisted him when it appeared helpful, and grew somewhat nervous at the thought of him reacting at the sight of her once the bandage was off. As he finished unwinding the old bandage, she took the edge of the new one and held it over his eyes, guiding it down as soon as the used one was removed. As he wound it back around, she adjusted it to wrap flush with itself and fit comfortably.

"Thanks for the hand Miss Korvaris. I never got an answer from the doc about this, but did anyone else make it? I know _Redline Bandit_ went down over the ice cap, but I'd hoped at least a few others might have found harbor after she went down rather than eject into atmosphere and take their chances on the surface."

Chertyl took her omni-tool and scrolled through the logs.

"Nine others, two from your carrier and the rest from another vessel."

The human pondered this for a moment. "What happens now?" he asked with trepidation.

"It's five days until we make port at an Alliance station near the Citadel, but until then our FTL communications are staying silent and we'll be out of contact. Listen, I have to report soon to my station, would you prefer to stay here or should I take you to the lounge in the Commons? It's another ten hours until I'm off, but you might find someone with more answers there."

"The latter. I'd rather not be stuck inside my head all day."

"I wouldn't either Vic. Alright then. Up we go."

Chertyl helped lift the human out of the bunk pit, wrapping an arm around his to support his gait. The two walked in this manner toward the observation lounge- a large room across the galley offering a breathtaking view of the Apien Crest's nebulae, at least for those without heavy gauze obscuring their eyes. Most passersby seemed to pay little heed as the two walked along, except for a young petty officer in Chertyl's section, who held the hatch open as they approached, suppressing a smirk.

"Ever the mama bear, eh ma'am?"

The Lieutenant Commander bristled slightly.

" _Shut up."_

Victor seemed intrigued.

"You have bears back home?"

"No. But that one is fond of human idioms. I admit that some are quite versatile."

Chertyl sat the human down on a chair designed for someone much larger than him, a fact which could only reinforce an observer's perception of her matronly manner in handling him. Though she was not keen on the petty officer's tease, she had to admit to herself that this human certainly awakened some of her more dormant instincts, including a peculiar protectiveness. Glancing around subconsciously to ensure they were alone, she knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I have to go now, but you'll have plenty of company by the time the mess opens. If I find the other humans, I'll let them know you're in here as well. Try to relax, and I'll come find you once my shift is through."

With a squeeze of his shoulder, she strode off back down the hall towards a lift to the first deck, already beginning to worry about leaving him alone. Perhaps there was more truth to the tease than she cared to admit.

* * *

"-so I finally just give up and secure the rubber duck, and hope that'll be the end of it. But nope- now he's my rack-mate I'm told, and it would behoove me to ensure that Cadet Ducky keeps his living space groomed to a military standard. So now I'm maintaining two sets of lockers, and he's given seniority to me for some reason, so this duck kicks me out of the top rack and has to be assigned a spot on the firewatch rotation, which naturally I have to perform. The rest of my time there I had to quack for him whenever a roll call was ordered after saying my own name. It became so ingrained I actually did it once at a formal ceremony soon after I arrived at my first duty station."

Although Vic couldn't see his reaction, the sound of the turian trooper's lilting snickers informed him that she found his tale quite amusing. While the practice of sharing stories related to training (particularly basic) was considered a folly of the inexperienced amongst Alliance ranks, he had come to find late in his career that turian colleagues seemed to find them most entertaining, as they took great amusement in the absurdist shenanigans common to many humans' initial experience- the result of a curriculum designed primarily to instill adherence to protocol and break down a mindset of civilian expectations.

Hailing from a highly martial society, recruits entering the turian equivalent faced an initiation that far fewer found humor in recalling, from his conversations over the years. This particular one had started with the trooper mentioning her envy of the student aviators assigned to her first base on Palaven, until the day came her unit was charged with hunting them down through harsh terrain as part of their evasion training, with orders to shoot them on sight with very painful but nonlethal rounds. After pelleting a few unfortunate pilots making a run for it or simply pleading for mercy on the spot, she finally figured being a ground-pounder wasn't such a bad gig after all.

Victor heard approaching footfalls and sensed his audience stiffen at attention.

"Evening, ma'am."

"Evening, Sergeant. I see you've met one of our distinguished Alliance guests. Don't let me interrupt you if you're in the middle of an awesome story there, Victor"

The human perked up, turning his head roughly in the direction of Chertyl's voice.

"Oh by no means ma'am. The stories I've been telling Vale here have been for giggles, but the one's she's told me are going to keep me up at night."

The trooper chuckled at that.

"Too much humility, this one. I can tell he's been around the block, even if it's hard to get him to talk about it. It's been fun, Major. I've got some rounds to make now- yes, literally. On the sintering press. Be seeing you both."

As she turned to leave, Vic called after her.

"Remind me never to play hide-and-seek with you, Sergeant."

"Aww, I'll be gentle." Vale replied with a wink and pair of finger guns as she disappeared out the hatch. Chertyl caught this and smiled, quietly warning the human in mock seriousness.

"You can't trust those operators Vic. I hear they get a real kick out of hunting downed pilots."

He laughed- a little nervously- at this advice. Victor heard his host ask if he was ready to head back to the cabin, mentioning that most crew cleared out of this deck when the ship's day cycle wound to a close. He wasn't terribly tired, but figured since she was just coming off her watch, he wouldn't keep her from turning in for the evening. He let her take him by the arm once again and lead him through the hallways, feeling a small pang of shame at requiring such basic assistance. He disliked the feeling of helplessness caused by his blindness, and was itching to remove the bandage by morning and put a face to the voices that had engaged and comforted him these past crazy days. As they entered a lift, Victor heard the turian woman ask how he was feeling.

"Pretty good, all things considered. I'll be even better once this thing comes off," he admitted, raising an arm to prod the bandage. In the act of doing so he detected a hint of his own body odor, and realized he hadn't bathed in nearly three days.

"I'd kill for a bath, too."

The lift jerked to a halt from its journey upward, and the pilot felt his stomach drop as they began to proceed back down.

"These cruisers have no baths, Victor. But there are a number of hygienic facilities you may find helpful."

The human wondered if he should have mentioned it. He asked tentatively if soaking his bandage would be a problem, a concern Chertyl dismissed by assuring him the outer surface was hydrophobic.

A long descent and a winding walk through Engineering later, Victor felt a damp, cool breeze brush past him as Chertyl opened a hatch ahead of them. A short walk inside brought him to a bench, where his host seated him. She commented on the silence that permeated the damp atmosphere.

"Looks like we have it all to ourselves for the moment."

He heard Chertyl open a compartment along the wall with a metallic click, soon accompanied by the sounds of garments unclasping and fluttering to the floor. Victor's face flushed at the realization that the alien hands that proceeded to hunt along his chest to find the zipper pull of his flight suit belonged to a very naked turian. For her part, Chertyl continued to make idle conversation, oblivious to the flustered human's unease.

"Our showers probably won't seem too unfamiliar to you, with a couple of exceptions. One, turians prefer a dense, pressurized mist over streams of water, and our preferred temperatures might be a little hot for human skin. You just tell me if anything feels uncomfortable."

Despite his awkward feelings at being stripped of his clothes before an alien audience, Victor had to admit to himself that he wasn't in much of a position to figure this place out blindly, and the promise of a hot-but-hopefully-not-scalding steam bath really sounded like it might hit the spot right now. He relinquished his boots, suit and skivvies to the turian, crossing his arms to ward off the chill as he stood nude and impatient.

Hearing the storage compartment click shut, he felt Chertyl's hand take his and lead him down another hall, their footfalls splashing through the puddles pooled about on the heated floor as they made their way into a secluded booth at the end of the room. The sound of a sliding door sealing shut resonated through the now-airtight compartment, and he sensed the turian activating a console upon the wall as a series of soft beeps were followed by the popping of his ears as the atmosphere compressed around them.

The abrupt hiss of warm steam flooding around their ankles nearly made Victor jump out of his skin. He felt a leathery palm on his shoulder, his host reassuring him quietly,

"Hey, relax. Not too hot right?"

The blooming steam was quite warm but not uncomfortably so as it filled the room, crawling up his body. The sensation of the heated vapor enveloping him felt positively divine. True to form, Victor communicated his thoughts through understatement.

"This is fine."

The psychological benefits of hot meals and showers were among the most profound known to any human military (followed closely by dry socks and the availability of postal service). As the pilot felt his disposition brighten, he felt a renewed sense of gratitude towards the one who had taken him under her wing. From his conversations throughout the day in and around the lounge, the Lieutenant Commander was seen as a dependable officer, and often mentored Comms crews in their first deployments.

On the other hand, Sergeant Vale had expressed surprise when he told her where he was bunked, having figured Chertyl as the socially secluded type outside of her work. Vale had told him Chertyl had eschewed the convenience and breathing space afforded to her by the quarters of the command deck in favor of a more private- but comparatively cramped- cabin far aft of her station. Rubbing his shoulder idly, Victor felt the humidity begin to saturate his skin and work open the pores, the sounds of steam being injected into the compartment gradually fading into a whisper, allowing him to express the words he'd been mulling over.

"Listen, Chertyl I… I got to talk earlier today with a couple of crew who'd just gotten out of the med ward, and they were telling me how much they hated feeling useless during recovery. I have to admit I feel the same way. I've always tried not to make a crutch out of those around me even when times are tough, and I'm sorry if I've been a burden. I can promise I'll make myself useful once this blindfold comes off, you just let me know what you need."

He felt a cool, gooey tendril fall onto his opposite shoulder, accompanied by a sweet odor somewhere between cucumbers and marzipan. The pads of Chertyl's sinewy fingers traced around the pliant musculature of his upper back, carefully circumnavigating the scars and burn ridges etched into his flesh from Reaper and turian alike. Yielding to her touch, he felt her face close to his as she spoke firmly,

"I'll have something you can help me with tomorrow. But let's get one thing clear. Nobody on this ship sees you as useless, Victor- no more than anyone else here who lost their home and got stuck with us for the time being. You know, if anything many of them see you as guests of honor, knowing that your fleet in the Apien was called to defend Palaven even after the news broke that your own world was hit. And even if you were injured too badly to be cleared for anything, I like to think I'd still take care of you. Spirits know I've spent enough of my life bringing pain on others, or at least I thought so until the Reapers showed up. So cheer up, I don't see you as a burden at all. Now turn around and hold this."

Victor did as instructed, facing about and taking the bottle of herbaceous soap as more of the sweet substance was spread onto his neck and chest. Unlike the varieties he was accustomed to, this soap felt as if it were infused with a mild but soluble abrasive, the gentle friction of the scrub against Chertyl's hands turning to a slick rub as she worked it in, unwinding his knotted muscles and leaving his skin supple. He felt around the neck of the bottle for the opening as she moved to his waist and rear. The feeling was exquisite- and it would be criminal not to reciprocate her efforts, he mused, blindness be damned.

Pouring an aliquot of soap onto his free hand, he lifted it hesitantly to where he figured Chertyl's shoulder might be, his fingers finding purchase on her breastplate instead. A gasp escaped her maw, leaving Victor feeling a bit lewd as he explored the soft flesh between her plates with a fragrant slathered hand.

"You don't have to return every favor, big guy." Chertyl said in a husky tone. She took the bottle from him, but allowed Victor to continue massaging her.

"Yeah but… maybe it's the least I can do." His other hand now liberated, he applied himself to massaging around the bowl-like rim of her carapace, gliding his hands around the base of her neck and marveling at the texture of the smoothly segmented dermal plates trailing up her spine. By now Chertyl had begun to kneel, her powerful hands running down the flanks of his thighs. Soon kneading her way down along the adductors of his right leg, Victor shuddered involuntarily at her electrifying touch. Merely brushing against his manhood briefly was enough to make him feel unsteady at the knees. His hands caressed her faceplate at last, and being careful that his hands weren't soapy, he began to trace the ridges of her faceplates. He found the leathery fold of her eyelids, and with the gentlest touch tracked his thumbs around them, her eyes closing as he did so. She sighed contentedly, the puff of her breath tickling him rather erotically as his hands traced a path down each mandible.

His hands stopped abruptly at their base. In one palm the sensation of sleek metal interrupted his movement, and as his fingers slowly clasped around her left mandible he realized how much shorter it was than the felt her mandibles twitch in his hands and he released them as if electrified. He stepped out of the alien's grasp and slowly backed up towards the wall, his mind suddenly acutely aware of how little space there was in this booth. His breath caught, a single word finding its way out of his gasping mouth.

" _You…"_

His mind struggled to reconcile the kindness shown to him with the horrifying memories of this domineering alien woman in his pre-cryogenic life, memories that until now he could almost dismiss as another recurrent nightmare. But although his memories of the days leading up to being put on ice were a muddled haze, the scars crossing his body from the beds of his nails to the faint crook of his nose could bear testament to the hell he had undergone better than any words. The memories flashed before his mind once again, overpowering him in a very physical sense as he slumped numbly down the damp wall. He heard the turian step falteringly towards him and he reflexively raised his arms in defense, the occluding darkness of his blindfold amplifying the sense of despair that washed over him.

For a brief but terrifying moment, he imagined that the events of the past days were but a dream, and he was about to wake up to the sight of that godforsaken brig, ready to begin another interrogation.

Torn back to the present, the pilot felt his hands slowly clasped gently by the bare talons of the turian woman. He sensed her crouch in front of him, and could almost see her in that black uniform again, raising an instrument to his neck-

" _It's okay…_ It's okay Vic. Nobody's going to hurt you anymore." He heard her voice choke, a sorrowful trill breaking the harmonics of her voice as she regained her breath. Chertyl's arms pulled him slowly into a compassionate embrace, her hands meeting less and less resistance from his tensed form as she cradled the human, her voice falling to a tender whisper.

"No one will hurt you anymore, my dear. No one. I'll tear through anyone that tries."

Victor slowly returned the embrace, his mind beginning to return fully to the comforting benevolence of his present. Hot tears welled in his eyes, wicked away into the bandage, and for the next minute he simply wept as his emotions washed over him, his companion holding him tightly and stroking his head, no longer placing her affections behind demands for his confession. The human felt nearly weightless in the warm mist, fatigued equally by the effort of breathing the dense vapor as he was by his emotional upheaval. He noticed no pain as he blinked the last of his tears away, and with one thumb he cautiously raised the bottom edge of the gauze until he could see. Confident that his recovery was complete, he pulled it off entirely and let it fall from his fingers.

Chertyl raised her head from its place nestled against his neck, and Victor caught her eyes for the first time since that awful day in captivity- the day he first wondered if turians could cry. He saw the answer glistening around the sky-tinted irises peering back at him without any trace of malice. Her mandibles flared as his gaze lingered, and he watched as she took her hands and cupped them around his cheeks. Chertyl touched his forehead to hers and she whispered mournfully,

"I'm so sorry Vic. I was young and full of fire; so naive and needy for a chance to prove myself. But spirits how it broke my heart to see what they did- what I did- to you. Barely anyone remembers that fight anymore. Hell, most of our crew today were barely born when it happened, few of them can even remember a time when humans weren't our ally. I've lived most of my life now believing I'd been an accomplice in killing you, something for which I could never forgive myself."

She pulled back to look him in the eyes once more.

"But to have found you, and to not have my last memory of you be a rag of your blood and tears in my pocket… it frees my spirit from a long-locked cage. You said you felt like a burden on me, but you can't imagine the burden you lift from me merely by being in my arms. I'll never hurt you again, Victor."

She squeezed him in a bear hug once more, nuzzling his forehead with hers for another minute before a faint grin returned to her face.

"But that doesn't mean the Medical Director won't once he finds out you took that off prematurely."

Disarmed by her humor, Victor cracked a smile of his own as he collected the bandage from the floor and slowly stood up from the corner with her help.

"Please don't tell him, I've seen what he can do with those scalpels."

The two soon finished showering and dried themselves in an antechamber built for the purpose before dressing and beginning the long walk back to Chertyl's cabin, just as a squad of crew shuffled past on their way to wash up. Chertyl broke the silence as they strode through the dim hallways of Engineering.

"Knowing how fastidious the Director can be, it wouldn't surprise me if you'd have been fine taking that bandage off when you woke up."

Mustering his most innocent look possible, Victor gave his reply as they entered a waiting lift.

"Perhaps, but then I might not have gotten the greatest steamy rubdown this side of Omega."

As the lift ascended, he felt a turian hand slink against his, clutching and squeezing his palm lightly. He looked up to see a foxy smirk cross Chertyl's face.

"I've got a good feeling about you, Vic. Do a good job for me tomorrow and I'll make sure it's not the last."


	4. Chapter 3: Back In The Saddle

Chapter 3: Back in the Saddle

 _11.1._ 2186

Alliance pilots formed an intimate connection with their craft, Chertyl recalled from an old report a colleague had sent to her for review many years ago, in preparation for a briefing with pilots of the Hierarchy embarking on their inaugural sorties of war games with the human fleet. _They are trained to a high degree of autonomy,_ she remembered telling them, _but individually their craft and crews fill very specialized roles within their strike formations. From our experiences at the Relay, heavy fighters of the following configuration will prove your gravest concern:_

She remembered displaying to them a model of an Alliance fighter with a bulbous protrusion along the dorsal spine of a forked fuselage, each tine terminating in twin cannon; a third barrel of unmistakably high bore protruding from a traversable mount on a ventral pod. _This one won't come hunting you directly. It'll just make sure you don't have a carrier to return to if you let his friends distract you into a melee, and you let him get there._

A living specimen of this craft currently sat suspended on the mobile arm of the _Ruin Wake's_ shuttle gantry, ready to be lowered into the launch chute and jettisoned on command. Larger than any variant of the ubiquitous F-61 Trident, this fighter was of more vintage stock, her comparative lack of maneuverability offset by the bruising power of both her gun-missile battery and an electronic warfare suite that could probably pop all the graxen kernals in the galley if she were powered up right here. On the edge of a catwalk above this beast sat her pilot, a sleepy-looking Victor leaning his arms against the safety banister, his legs swinging nonchalantly nearly twenty feet above the canopy.

After a short ride up an access lift, Commander Korvaris finished reminiscing as she ambled beside her human companion, wrapping a small blanket around his shoulders and stirring him from his trance. Or was it slumber? He drew in a sharp breath and peered up at her through groggy eyes.

"Ah… hey there. That feels nice, thank you. But I'm on alert for another-"

He drew a profound yawn as he glanced at his timepiece.

"-two hours and eleven minutes. Sorry you caught me slipping off again… it's hard, you know?"

Chertyl knew that his fatigue was the fast getting to him, a circumstance she couldn't hold against the starved man. It brought her worry, seeing her human friend more exhausted by the day _,_ and she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt each time she stopped by the wardroom to eat her fill, knowing that Vic and his companions were famished, now on their fourth day without sustenance. Thankfully, Novis Raad'li, the tech officer who'd initially made the crude comment regarding growling stomachs, brought to the humans' rackmates his personal stash of skynettle tea, made from a turian plant adapted for cultivation on Thessia, whose active chemical composition exhibited no dextrorotation- or chirality of any kind for that matter. Though it was of scant nutritional value to humans, Director Marthel had encouraged their hosts to provide it to them regardless.

Chertyl clasped a hand soothingly between his clavicle and shoulder, gently massaging him. She took relish in the muffled, pleasured groans she elicited from him as he relaxed and surrendered completely to her touch.

"You're awesome by the way. In case no one has reminded you lately. If you're trying to keep me awake though, this is a pretty good way to send me to dreamland."

Chertyl stopped her motions, an almost needful sigh leaving the human. A mischievous tone entered her voice.

"Well, I can fetch a bucket of ice water from the galley and pour it all over you if you'd prefer. Even better since your suit is missing."

As soon as she said the words she regretted them, even as she spoke in jest. It was enough to endure the chill of the hanger on an alert wearing nothing but his service skivvies while his flight suit was being laundered. He looked slightly comical in a turian flight harness haphazardly strapped over his undergarments, an array of electronics and cockpit interface jacks hanging about him like some sort of cyberpunk ghille suit. But even jokingly the thought of bringing him physical torment in any form was unbearable. The human chuckled in good humor at her remark, but she still knelt beside him to pull him into a hug, and smiled when he patted her arm, draped affectionately across his chest.

"You know I'm just joking with you, Vic. Here, I did actually bring you something to fight the snooze."

The turian released him to retrieve a rotund metal flask, twisting firmly at the neck to reveal a steaming opening. Handing the vessel to Victor, she watched as the human's nose perked at the exotic scent of the liquid inside. Even among her kind, aficionados of skynettle were the exception rather than the rule. Taking an experimental sip, she watched his impassive expression contort thoughtfully, before bringing the flask back up to drink more.

"Do you like the taste?" she asked, hoping he might find it agreeable.

"Really don't think I do. Too spicy… like ginger, if you can relate to that at all. But it will definitely keep me awake, so that's a win in my book. Thanks again."

The human glanced at her and raised the flask as if giving a toast, before grimacing and taking another sip. Chertyl watched him pensively for a minute before taking a seat beside him, their legs dangling in the cool breeze of the hangar. Looking past her toes, she took a moment to marvel at the battle-weary A-52 _Orca_ hanging two stories beneath them. The ablative skin was streaked with scorch marks in places where directed-energy weapons had glanced off, striking at too oblique an angle to be absorbed by the shielding. To her delight, she saw that despite the significant cosmetic erosion, a cartoon dragon's mouth painted around the flame plating of a forward cannon's muzzle remained pristine, if slightly (and appropriately) sooty.

"Did you paint that cute beastie there, Vic?"

The pilot looked quizzically at his craft until he saw what she was referencing, drawing a chuckle.

"Nah, that was Nicky Yamaduta's work. We made a bet during the last Crimson Pennon exercise a couple years ago, and that was the price. He definitely gave me a run for my money though, especially given that I had over a decade of stick time on him. I never really got to know him too well, nobody did really. He was a pretty quiet guy that just seemed happier to absorb himself in his work and hear out others rather than talk about himself. I guess maybe that's part of why I liked him so much. But yeah, that chubby dragon was his idea. Still puts a smile on my face every time I light up an Oculus. Here's to hoping I'll get the chance to do so many more times before this is all over."

His expression turned dour as he took another sip, before lightening again as he turned to face her.

"But enough about that, I wanted to ask you something."

"What's that, Vic?"

"Your friend Lorem in Flight Ops took me down to the armory earlier to get kitted up and go over contingencies, flight plans… you know. Interesting guy, for sure- I had no idea folding paper was a pastime for turians too- but he took a call while he was briefing me and told whoever was on the line that he was busy working with _Korvaris' keepling._ My translator didn't quite get that last word, but that's what it sounded like."

Chertyl rolled her eyes. "Kipling. That must be what he said. It's a play on words that wouldn't translate anyway, but the meaning of the word refers to one's pet. You hear it most used in reference to young and untamed ones, at that."

She was surprised that Victor's initial reaction gravitated towards the age commentary before anything else.

"Do I really seem so young?" he asked skeptically.

She had to nod her head emphatically at that.

"It's remarkable actually. You look barely older than when they put you in cryo, and we're essentially the same age, by your own records."

The turian stifled a giggle, and placed a hand upon Victor's head, stroking his smooth pate. "But I think this might have more to do with it- a male without a crest just looks… I dunno… _juvenile?"_

The human turned to face her with a comically exaggerated frown, the look of mock devastation in his soulful eyes plucking at her heartstrings.

"Oh don't look at me that way, Vic. You are a handsome, strapping specimen of a spaceman, and don't you believe anyone who would tell you otherwise."

She dropped her arm to bring it around his collarbone, pulling him in to deliver a conspiratorial whisper.

"And with that beast of yours down there, I'd wager you could give a fine femme of any species the best ride of her life."

Chertyl watched his face redden deeply at her purposefully-ambiguous compliment. The poor man looked postively shell-shocked for a moment, but she couldn't help herself. The matronly affection she held for this human had blossomed over the past few days as they had spent more time beside one another. For his part, Victor seemed to reciprocate these feelings, and she was finding increasingly that he was opening up to her emotionally in their late-night talks from bunk to bunk. She didn't want to come on too strongly, but damn it, he just looked so cute when she could fluster him like this, and to his credit, he recovered quickly.

"I-If you say so, Chertyl. But if you catch me gluing feathers to my head out of insecurity, it's your fault."

Chertyl's mandibles twitched mirthfully at the absurd but endearing mental image that gave her. She was about to recommend painting his face in the turian manner to complete the look, when their banter was interrupted by the sound of a klaxon echoing throughout the hangar. A call for all hands to assume duty stations came through the intercom system, and she could make out the voice of the Flight Chief through Victor's communications receiver. Springing into action, she quickly helped the human mount his helmet sensorium and accompanied him to the gantry ladder, where she urged him to be careful out there before hurriedly making her way to the operations deck.

In combat situations, she fulfilled the role of aide to the signals intelligence staff, who provided the valuable battlefield service of intercepting enemy transmissions and working to extract tactical data in real time. On the opposite end of the room, flight operations and fire control were busy coordinating, and she could see the situation in the holo map Lorem was poring over even as a colleague was explaining it to her. In the past few minutes a Destroyer hiding in the nebula had tried pouncing _Havinclaw_ flying point, before _Ruin Wake_ and _Illuminator_ each put a salvo through the Reaper's tail, killing propulsion and power to her lethal primary. Not to be vanquished so easily, the Reaper had begun shedding a swarm of drones which were now gunning for the frigate, and she could hear Commodore Severen emphatically order the cruiser to close the gap and blanket her with point-defense fire.

Accepting a headset from the hand of a subordinate to begin communicating with her counterparts on the _Havinclaw,_ the last details she could resolve from the tactical display across the room were the holographic arrows symbolizing the three Alliance fighters peeling off the cruiser's vector to meet the oncoming horde in enfilade. The Lieutenant Commander did her best to swallow the fear for Vic and her friends aboard _Havinclaw_ , as she established a secure data link with the wildly maneuvering frigate.

"Have a hard link, sir. Standing by to slave countermeasures to your sensors."

Through the fore viewport, she caught a series of luminous flashes as the frigate's close-in weapons system detonated oncoming munitions at a range that couldn't have left much room for comfort. The battle-scarred hulk of _Illuminator_ soon eclipsed her view as she sped ahead to bring her own batteries to bear on the enemy. The viewport soon became obstructed completely as the blast shields were lowered, and her attention returned to the task at hand as a shaky voice on the line acknowledged her transmission, indicating they were ready to receive.

"Sending it. Spirits keep you, _Havinclaw_."


	5. Chapter 4: No Place Like Home

Chapter 4: No Place Like Home

 _Four hours later…_

The hatch to the _Ruin Wak_ e's armory hissed open, and out walked the weary-eyed Major into the hallway. Roused from idle conversation with a crewmate, Chertyl quickly excused herself and stalked his path to the lift, doing her best to appear casual, thanking him curtly as he held the door open once he saw her.

The moment the gates clicked shut, Chertyl threw her arms around the dazed human in a hug that lifted his feet clear off the deck for several moments before she set him down, trying to recover some semblance of her normal hardened demeanor.

"Don't worry me like that again, stud. Everything feel alright?"

The pilot rubbed his eyes for a moment,

"I mean, it felt kinda weird getting debriefed in my underwear, but yeah I guess."

She blinked slowly, before specifying.

"No silly. I could feel your heart pounding like an autocannon, and I don't need a medic's take to tell me you're still amped from the fight. What gives?"

He put a hand experimentally to his chest, before answering,

"Oh, that. There's this kit in the cockpit that contains some stimulant doses and I may have taken one or four, but they're meant be used on extended missions… and not on an empty stomach."

The two arrived at last in Chertyl's cabin, and the human kicked off his boots and peeled off his shirt, pacing the room as if venting adrenaline. For her part, Chertyl unshackled her utility harness and stripped herself of her fatigues, the cool air of the ventilation duct above her feeling heavenly against her skin as she stood beneath it in nothing but her undersuit. The intercom in the hallway crackled on, and Severen himself delivered the all-clear, reporting both sister ships intact with minimal casualties, before proceeding to thank his crew for ensuring that the lives of their brothers at arms remained in capable hands.

Chertyl breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and she watched her counterpart put his hands to his face and stretch in a peculiar combination of fatigue and elation, before meeting her gaze with spirited eyes.

"We made it. Sweet baby Richard Gatling, we've actually made it. You know, I really wasn't sure I was coming back for a few moments back there. I need to lay down for a minute."

The turian called to him, beckoning him to approach her. Before he could resist, she swept him into her arms and sauntered slowly to the edge of her own bunk. As she settled him onto the soft cushion, Chertyl gave in to a spontaneous temptation, taking advantage of her position to tickle the human's exposed belly with her faceplates, delighting in the smoothness of his sweat-sheened skin as he convulsed around her in raucous laughter. Straddling her tickle-victim, she waited for his breathing to normalize before responding to his last statement.

"You would have been in a lot of trouble if you didn't come back to me, mister. So don't even think about it."

Despite herself, she heard her voice break slightly in speaking this. She hated to think he might not have pulled through, and although casualties were light, there were still many who hadn't been so lucky, to say nothing of all those they'd lost on the other side of the Apien. The human looked up at her ruminating countenance, and she suddenly felt him gingerly cup his palm around her face, wiping away a nascent tear with his thumb.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Chertyl." He spoke softly, and brought his hand behind her neck. Drawing his face close, he parted his lips tenderly to meet hers, planting them against the brim of her mouth plates as he delivered an impassioned kiss. She gasped briefly in surprise, before reciprocating in kind, her fingers wrapping from his cheeks to his temples as she explored the slickness of his tongue with the superior length and musculature of her own. She felt his breathing quicken as she broke the kiss to deliver a little nibble down his neck without warning, chirring softly as she grasped him by the neck with with her teeth and one hand, while pushing him flat onto the mattress with the other. The human gave a little yelp at her surprise attack, the sudden stimulation causing him to arch his back and pull his turian companion tight against him.

Sensing that her instincts were compromising her self-control, and mindful of his more fragile skin, she released him from her mouth and turned his head, praying she hadn't drawn blood. A light stippled crescent of red ran down the side of his neck, having barely broken the surface. She looked at him sheepishly as she fumbled for words.

"Ah… sorry dear. It's not my fault you drive me this crazy, you know. But please, please stop me if I start to hurt you, okay? You know that's the last thing I want."

Chertyl's world spun as she suddenly found herself underneath Victor, straddled by the fire-eyed human. It would seem her very turian form of foreplay had awoken his own instincts as well. She felt him take her wrists and hold them by her side, yielding to his touch despite the difference in size and strength. He kissed her on the forehead, and she could only blink demurely as he whispered in her ear,

"I know you wouldn't hurt me, you big mama bear. But that's not to say I don't like it when you're a little untamed."

Victor visited his retaliation upon her neck before she could think to reply, leaving her gasping as his tongue and teeth caressed the sensitive flesh between her chitinous plates. He began to work his way lower, his hands still pinning hers in place even as she tensed under his attention. In one motion he took the zipper pull of her suit between his incisors and pulled it along its diagonal length, baring her chest to his oral caresses. Suddenly he slowed his pace, peering up at her as he inquired out of the blue,

"Hold up. I've actually wondered for a while now, when it rains, does water get trapped in here?"

He briefly released her from his grasp to point into the shallow basin formed by her carapace,

Chertyl glanced at the human incredulously as he kissed intermittently at her breast.

"Uh...the short answer is no. If -ah- you want more detail than that we could… we could try this in the rain sometime. Now lemme help you with this."

She raised herself easily, her companion now lying squarely in her lap as she unzipped the suit completely, teasing him with a slow and deliberate pace as she slid out from underneath him to discard the garment, the turian watching with excitement as her companion followed suit and revealed himself completely to her hungry gaze. Enkindled with erogenous curiosity, she took the lead again, planting him prone at the head of the bed before mounting herself in reverse, nuzzling her face slowly against his abdomen before running her long tongue along a slow, slick journey from his umbilical scar to the tip of his alien manhood, bringing the fascinating organ to attention. Chertyl heard the human gasp from under her rump as she fondled his distended orbs before engulfing the entirety of his length into the slippery warmth of her maw. Contemplating the vaguely alkalescent but not unpleasant taste of the male, she coiled the length of her tongue around his member, forming a vacuum as she began suckling, a lewd crescendo of slurping sounds building as the human surrendered himself deeper into her throat, faintly whimpering in pleasure while reflexively thrusting his hips before being held still by the powerful hands of his alien lover.

Not one to be deterred so easily, the human instead opted to pull her own hips down toward him, eliciting a resonant moan from Chertyl as he buried his face between the engorged folds of her sex, the soft scales lining her entrance assaulted by his shorter but oh-so-divinely-textured human tongue. Mindful of the risk in smothering him, the turian nevertheless ground herself needfully against his mouth as she was forced to relinquish him from her maw in order to draw in a labored breath. She took a moment to consider the biocompatibility issues that might come to haunt them later, before deciding at the height of her lust that she needed him; she would claim him as her own, and they would simply have to try to minimize the risks however they could. By the enthusiastic smacking of her partner's oral ministrations upon her nethers however, she feared that perhaps they were going at this a little recklessly, no matter how amazing it felt.

Grinding down upon his face in one last moment of guilty hesitance, Chertyl climbed off the human and dabbed the corner of her bedsheet around his lips, and chin… and down his neck…

"Spirits, you definitely know what you're doing with that thing, Vic. Please don't tell me you ingested anything though… I'm not sure how I'd explain this to the med crew that'd have to revive you."

The human chuckled nervously, wiping away the sheen of her essence from his lips with the back of his palm.

"I can see the obituary now. 'Alliance pilot survives Reaper ambush only to die in erotic accident'... If that happens Chertyl, please let them know I died doing what I loved."

The turian flicked her mandibles, turning her face in a blush. She tried to sound irritated.

"I swear by the spirits Vic, if you go belly up on me before finishing the job-"

"-but yeah, maybe we should try something else. My tongue is going a little numb…"

She smiled.

"Thought you'd never ask, Vic."

The turian woman lowered herself slowly back onto her reclined lover, aligning the elliptical, engorged edges of her well-lubricated entrance with the tip of his anxious member before taking him slowly into the warmth of her muscular folds. Despite not being designed for her anatomy, the unfamiliar organ nevertheless rubbed all the right nerve endings up her tapering canal until the tip kissed her womb, drawing a strained moan as she forced herself to relax until he was fully hilted inside of her. She began to massage his length by clenching around him and deliberately gyrating her hips, soon rewarded with a pleasured growl as her human lover buried his face between her neck and carapace and nibbled on her exposed flesh. Feeling a primal need well within her, Chertyl abruptly rolled the human into a new position on top of her, the turian's smoky voice taking a commanding tone in contrast to her compromising posture.

"Make me yours, human. And don't… don't you hold anything back."

Victor gave only a curt nod and a grunt of acknowledgement before obeying dutifully, bringing his hips powerfully down in a rhythm of zealous presses. Chertyl hugged his hips with her legs, taking care not to spur him as they rocked the bunk with every thrust. The turian took a secret pleasure in the way his human fingers wrapped around hers, holding her in so submissive a position despite her considerable physical advantages over him. It was strange to feel so compelled to be a protective presence around him, yet desire his domination in their private company just the way he was doing. But damn if this wasn't adding up to be the greatest lovemaking thrill she'd ever experienced. From the feral pace the human began to adapt, and from his throaty moans that drowned in hers as they shared another deep kiss, she felt safe in presuming that Victor was partaking in at least some of her absolute, celestial bliss.

Finally, she could take no more. Jerking her head to the side, her jaws found purchase around her pillow as she screeched into it, faintly tearing the fabric between her sharp teeth as a powerful climax hit her like a concussion round, her musculed passage spasming in wave after wave of ecstasy.

" _Chertyl, I- I cant't-"_

As the human verged on pulling himself free from her, instinct again overrode logical sense in her love-drunk mind as she grabbed Vic by the buttocks and held him in place, desperate to ride her climax out on his hot rod as her body constricted around its pulsing length. With a wrenching grunt, she felt the wet warmth of his seed flood into her at last, using her last bit of strength to tense herself tightly, prevent his fluids from seeping further into her womb. Taking a moment to allow their breathing to slow and to caress each other lovingly, Chertyl turned to see tears pooling in her lover's eyes.

"I- I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have-"

Touched by his concern for her, Chertyl interrupted him with a gentle shush as she rolled herself about to straddle him once more, the human groaning as he was forced to move with her, his member still locked in place by the force of her flexed vaginal musculature. She stroked his cheek tenderly as she slowly allowed him to slip free with a wet _pop_ , along with every drop of his exotic pearly payload, pooling around his twitching member.

'You're okay Vic. It's all right. That was kind of a risky maneuver on my part but I was the one who kinda lost self-control back there, not you. But there's nothing to worry about."

She kissed him on the forehead, bringing one talon down to her soaking slit to gingerly massage her well-ridden sex. The human took her other hand into his, holding it against his chest as he watched her ride out the ebbing tide of her orgasm through half-lidded eyes, a contented smile spreading across his face. Chertyl admitted to herself that she would like nothing more than to collapse on top of him (softly, of course) and bask in the afterglow until sleep claimed them, but she knew it would be a far wiser move to wash themselves off first before commencing the cuddling. She gave a playful whisper to her inert lover.

"No sleep yet, sweet cheeks. Not till we wash this hot mess off us…"

Dismounting the human, she strode to the other end of the cabin to retrieve both their clothes and a bottle of her favorite fragrant soap, returning Victor's curious gaze with a lewd smirk.

"...and maybe make another one while we're at it."


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Serpent Nebula, Deep Space Construct _Manta Reef,_ 11.3.2186

Victor sat at the edge of the Medical Director's examination table, sheepishly sipping on a pouch of emergency electrolyte and nutrient solution as his exposed body was inspected by both turian and human doctors, the familiar figure of Falvo Marthel joined by the _Manta Reef's_ physician, Nasrah Cawsakh. The severe-looking woman peered intently at Victor's form as she assessed whether he was fit to depart the station. A frown crossed her face as a pair of gloved fingers touched two identical sets of red welts running from his hips to his rear.

"Chafing from the canopy harness, huh?" The human doctor inquired dubiously.

Victor gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I mean, like I said, I think someone simply adjusted the waist restraint a little funny before I strapped in on that last mission. Guess I was a little too focused on the enemy to take much notice of it by the time it started bothering me."

He felt her inquisitive fingers probe upwards along his back, tracing a crosshatched array of similar scratch welts behind his shoulders, whose spacing curiously matched the amount of relief between turian talons.

"Mmm-hmm. And nowhere in that little skirmish did you find a moment to address that or the loose buckle you said carved these into you?"

"I was, uh… _really_ really focused on what I was doing. I guess that'll teach me not to leave straps adrift next time huh?"

Victor scratched his head idly.

Director Marthel piped up, a hint of amusement underneath his stern facade.

"It'll teach you something, I'm sure." His gaze remained fixed on a fidgeting Chertyl leaning against the wall across the room.

"What are you looking at _ME_ for?" She asked innocently.

The human doctor took a blood sample from Victor's arm with a tiny jab from her omni-tool. Tapping a stylus against her lips, the woman regarded her patient with a pensive eye.

"Right. Normally I would also be inclined to ask you about these funny little abrasions and puncture marks on the side of your neck, but I get the feeling you're going to insist you got those by slipping in the shower."

As Victor began to muster a shaky explanation involving sleepwalking, the turian doctor placed a hand on his bare shoulder, quieting him.

"Relax Major. It's not terribly important how it happened. Our only interest is keeping you from unnecessary harm however we can. Spirits know the enemy tries to give you enough of that as it is. So just try to be more careful."

Nasrah put her omni-tool down and addressed her patient.

"Blood work looks good, the fast might keep you sleepy for another day or two but everything should be in working order soon, phantom cat scratches included. You're cleared to board, welcome to the _Manta Reef_ , Major. Though I figure you won't stick around to watch this boat get patched up."

Zipping up his suit, Victor confirmed her doubts.

"No ma'am, I'll be boarding another carrier arriving in a couple days at the Citadel. In the meantime I'll be joining the crew taking their weekend shore leave there while the retrofit is going on. I've got an invitation I can't refuse to the best sushi bar in town, and I'm crossing my fingers it's all-you-can-eat."

Chertyl walked over to her partner and fixed the back of his collar as she reported sadly, "Sorry Vic, I just checked and it looks like Ryussei's is closed for repair after some goons shot it up. But I've got another good place in mind. If you're lucky they might even serve skynettle tea."

The human doctor scrunched her face with an audible _bleh._

Victor turned to this kindred culinary spirit. "Right?"

The pilot and his companion soon bid their farewells and dismissed themselves. As the hatch shut behind them and their footfalls died into the distance, Doctor Cawsakh broke the silence permeating the medbay.

"That woman's gonna kill him, Falvo. I know those marks obviously don't fit the profile of anything abusive but still, that kid's got a real spitfire on his hands."

Marthel chuckled lightly.

"Oh, the marks are consensual without a doubt. Still, it disappoints me a bit that someone trained in operating an interstellar death machine isn't capable of fabricating a better cover story. But he's a tough kid, and honestly I'm quite happy for the Lieutenant Commander. She seems to be getting out of her shell and enjoying company, even if her enjoyment is a little… intense. Oh! And look at this, Nasrah."

He pointed out the viewport of the hatch, where they caught a glimpse of Chertyl and Victor walking in each other's arms, a passing sentry doing a double take as she passed the heedless couple. Doctor Cawsakh's professional bearing melted as she cooed in delight.

" _D'awww…_ Tell me Falvo, would it ruin the moment if I got on the PA and reminded those two to practice safe sex on the public frequency?"

The turian doctor only smiled and tapped his chin thoughtfully before shrugging.

"No need to mortify them Nasrah. Better to be subtle about it. I already took the liberty of slipping some human condoms into her pocket and a couple pouches of antihistamine lubricant into his."

Nasrah gave a rather un-doctorly giggle at the mention of this, before composing herself and commending him in a tone of mock reverence,

"Director, you're a real guardian angel, you know that?"


End file.
